


The Lion and the Unicorns

by cincoflex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rufus Scrimgeour comes to the aid of a damsel in an interesting sort of distress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This incarnation of Rufus Scrimgeour is based on artist VikingCarrot's amazing artwork, and certainly inspired the events in this story. My love to my betas, VR_Trakowski and Lovellama, who keep me in line!

The Lion and the Unicorns

When the head of the Auror office Rufus Scrimgeour first met Liora Simone Munro he had no idea that he’d end up in trouble nearly a wand-deep all because of her. She didn’t look like anyone who’d cause as much as a ripple in his well-ordered day, much less turn his life into a tangle of confusing turns and complicated emotions, but she did.  
He might have suspected some charm or potion might have been the root cause; Aurors were always suspicious, but the truth was much simpler.

*** 

Liora Munro came into his office at precisely seven fifty on a Tuesday morning and proceeded to drop the contents of her briefcase all over the carpet in front of his desk. Out of it spilled thirty or so wands, their wood clattering in an almost musical way as they tumbled out. Rufus watched as she blushed and scrambled to pick them up again, and he wondered if she was related in any way to Tonks, given the clumsiness he’d just witnessed. As it was, he came around his desk to give her a hand, and in the process caught an eyeful of an extremely attractive backside as outlined by her short and clingy black skirt. It hadn’t been his intention to letch, so Rufus froze for a moment, stunned at his own response. His hesitation gave Miss Munro enough time to pick up the wands and murmur an apology as she stood up again, her arms full.

“That ruddy case latch has been giving me trouble all winter,” she sighed, slowly repacking the wands into the purple velvet-lined interior of the case. “I’ve been saving for a new one, but that’s still a ways off. Oh excuse me sir. I’m waiting for Mr. Scrimgeour. I’m Miss Munro, of Ollivander’s.” 

“ _I’m_ Rufus Scrimgeour,” he responded automatically, holding out a hand to her. Her fingers were warm and strong, but small and faintly callused as well. When he looked down at her fingers, she pulled them away with a shrug.

“Working with wood roughens them up a bit,” she explained blushing again. “Luckily, Winders Wand Wax helps, both with the wands and my hands. Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that, sir. I was told you needed a wand inspected?”

She was nervous, he realized which was good; that was something he could deal with. As he brought out the confiscated wand and explained the particulars to her, Rufus took a moment to study the girl more carefully, and what he saw made an impression. Petite but well-rounded, with a curly cap of dark hair a shade between black and deep brown. Her eyes were the brightest blue he’d seen in years; bright as a summer sky, and heavily fringed with dark thick lashes. She wore a shop assistant’s skirt and blouse with the Ollivander’s logo in gold on the left breast, and a small charm bracelet that jingled as she fidgeted.

No rings, he noted over the top of his glasses, but then again in her line of work it might be detrimental.

“Birch,” she announced with confidence. “Ten and a quarter inches, so most likely for a gentleman. Let me check the core seal . . . yes, it’s dragon heartstring, just as I thought it would be. This wand is good for dueling and charms in particular. Judging by the weight, I would say that the owner was roughly five feet ten or eleven inches tall and by the wear on the shaft, left-handed. Also, he’s the nervous type.”

These last remarks brought his attention back to matters at hand, and Rufus shot her an inquiring look. 

Miss Munro elaborated. “There’s a worn spot here on the right side of the grip, made by the stronger pressure of the user’s thumb. Right side means left-handed. And here . . .” she pointed to the underside of the wand, where a few tiny grooves stood out against the wood, “he taps his wand on things when he’s bored or not using it, rapping the poor thing on edges, probably without thinking about it.”

“An astute observation,” he encouraged her, and she shot him a shy smile before ducking her head.

“I know wands,” she replied simply.

“Yes, it seems you do,” Rufus replied thoughtfully. “As it so happens, the owner of this wand is in fact, five foot ten, left-handed _and_ the nervous type, which makes you three for three. Do you know how old this wand is?”

She looked at the wand again, turning it over and stroking the shaft in a way that suddenly made him slightly aroused before bringing it up to her nose and sniffing it.  
“This wand is approximately thirty-six years old. The owner is using Winders now, but it was first created using Meekly’s eel oil rub, means he got his wand about twenty-five years or so if he bought the wand at age eleven for his first year at Hogwarts.”

Rufus blinked at her. “Four for four.”

She smiled at that, revealing charming little dimples at the corners of her mouth. “I credit Mr. Ollivander; he’s a thorough teacher.”

“Yes, I can tell. Well, your assistance will be a definite bonus to the Auror’s offices, Miss Munro. Let me show you around and introduce you to our teams.”

It had been simple enough after that to lead her through the offices and present her to the staff. There was a spare desk back by the old filing cabinets and Miss Munro settled in there nicely for her two days a week, bringing a potted puffapod and a nice blotter for it. 

She fit in well, and within a month or two, most of the Aurors were using her expertise to secure confiscated wands. Rufus had given her a key to the vault in his office, and felt a twinge of lightness every time she came in to place or retrieve a wand. Liora Munro moved quietly, and wore the scent of lilacs, which reminded him of springtime. He tried not to let himself dwell on her presence, but it had been a long time since Rufus Scrimgeour had actually noticed a woman simply for being a woman, and he was all too aware of that.

*** *** ***  
She thought he was incredibly handsome. That made Liora nervous, and when she was nervous she tended to be clumsy. Her parents had had the same habit, and although Mr. Scrimgeour was polite and patient, she wondered if he ever grew tired of her awkwardness. Even though she practiced walking quietly—a requirement of Ollivander’s employees—Liora still felt self-conscious slipping into Mr. Scrimgeour’s office and interrupting him. 

Whenever she saw him, Liora thought of a lion; majestic and slightly aloof, with a long mane and eyes the color of rich port wine. From her associates in the Auror office she found out that he’d been a Gryffindor—no surprise there—and had been fighting Dark Magic for over twenty years. Also that he was widowed.

That last lingered in her mind, and Liora tried not to wonder why it mattered to her. After all, he was her boss, the way Mr. Ollivander was. A respected superior who undoubtedly had his own circle of friends and family, far and above her own little place in Ottery St. Catchpole, rooming with Celia Scrubb, her slightly shifty flat mate. Mr. Scrimgeour wouldn’t watch local Quidditch matches all weekend, like Brian, her mooch of a boyfriend, who’d taken to bringing his laundry over, as if washing that up was supposed to be some sort of a treat. No, Mr. Scrimgeour probably had lovely dinner parties and took holidays in wonderful places like Scotland.

Fortunately Liora had saved enough to move out, and she would . . . just as soon as she collected the fifty Galleons Celia owed her, and the one hundred that Brian owed her. _Then_ she’d be able to put down the deposit on that nice little cottage outside of Surrey and call it her own. A place where nobody borrowed her CleanSweep without asking, where nobody played the Wyrd Sisters at all hours of the morning.

A place where she could invite someone—say a certain boss—and talk about interesting and important things over a quiet dinner for two. Liora liked that image quite a lot, but didn’t indulge in it too much because she knew perfectly well how impossible it was. Polite and kind as Mr. Scrimgeour was, he certainly had no interest in socializing with a wandmaker, of that Liora was sure.

No, he had his own world and she had hers, and if hers included a few sweet little daydreams, then no-one was the wiser. Liora kept her thoughts to herself and worked with the Auror office as diligently as she could, getting to know the wizards and witches who were on the front line against Dark Magic, and appreciating the difficult task it was to do. 

John Dawlish was nice, as was Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Liora was a little afraid of Mad-Eye Moody, but he didn’t seem to notice her trepidation or if he did, never commented on it. The other Aurors she knew by sight if not name, and they nodded to her if they happened to pass her on the lift, or down in the atrium lobby. Their cubicles reflected their given assignments and personalities, and Liora knew all of their wands by now as well. 

She was good with wands, always had been. Ever since stepping into Ollivander’s shop nearly twenty-one years ago and breathing in the dusty charmed air there, Liora had known that wandlore was her calling. When Mr. Ollivander had selected her wand, she’d asked him why _that_ particular one, and listened intently when he told her that Lilac wood with an intertwined Veela and Unicorn hair would be more difficult than most to use, but would give her spells depth. 

He’d been impressed by her question, and when she asked quietly if she could watch him choose wands for the other students in the shop he’d agreed. Her parents had gone off to purchase her books and supplies, and Liora had spend a wonderful afternoon watching and listening as Mr. Ollivander outfitted all the First Years coming in. When her parents came to fetch her, Mr. Ollivander had pressed a slip of parchment into her hand and told her he would be delighted if she wrote and told him how the wand was doing. The note held not only his address, but also a suggested list of courses most suitable for anyone wanting to go into the wandmaking profession.

It had been a thoughtful gesture, and she’d certainly followed up on it. Herbology of course, with emphasis on woods. Charms to the N.E.W.T. level, along with Potions, with emphasis on magical ingredients, and special coursework in identifying potential wand branches and woodworking, overseen by both the Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures professors.

Her years at Hogwarts had flown by, and had it not been for the tragic Quintaped attack that killed her parents while on holiday on the Isle of Drear, Liora might well have opened her own wand shop. But the funeral and the debts had just balanced out against her parent’s savings, leaving her only option to join Ollivander’s as a staff assistant. She’d worked there for years, saving her money and realizing that while Garrick Ollivander was an extremely talented wandmaker, he was also touched with a moral ambiguity that bothered her, particularly when it came to the Dark Arts. His fascination with the power of a wand tended to blind him to the user’s intentions, and Liora knew that if he wasn’t careful, he might well end up used by some very unsavory types.

Still, he’d recommended her as the consultant to the Auror offices, and for that Liora was grateful. Consulting was a step up, and the prestige of a Ministry job, even if only part-time, was good for the purse. The added private pleasure of seeing Mr. Scrimgeour twice a week didn’t hurt a bit either.

*** *** *** 

He couldn’t say when the first dream happened, but Rufus was well-aware by the third that his subconscious had some very definite ideas about Miss Liora Munro. It was disconcerting and embarrassing to find himself waking up in a state that required immediate manual attention, knowing full well that the sleepy images that had preceded it were definitely the cause of his tumescence.

Rufus had learned to give in to his needs, and up until now hadn’t worried too much about them. He’d learned to cope after Ellen had died, well-aware that his body still functioned even without a partner for pleasure. Generally the matter wasn’t a priority for him, and although he felt slightly guilty remembering Ellen’s admonishment to re-marry, his career had expanded to take up most of his waking hours since her passing so many years ago.

Ellen. He still had her picture on his desk, a shot of them together at Hogsmeade nearly three decades past. She’d been a sweet girl, fully supportive of his ambitions, and a good spouse in the short time they’d had together. It was a pity that they’d never had a chance for children; Ellen had contracted a particularly virulent form of Bleedlung in the third year of their marriage and peacefully passed away at St. Mungo’s after he, Rufus, had held her hand and made promises. Ellen had wanted him to travel, to re-marry, to play Celestine Warbeck songs at her funeral but the only request he’d managed to honor so far had been that last one.

And now it seemed that his body had decided to take up the argument. Rufus found it both annoying and amusing that after all these years, his libido had resurfaced with a bit of a vengeance. He tried to ignore it; he’d gotten good at overriding basic demands of his testosterone. Anyone in the Auror profession had to have a higher level of self-control than most.

Still, in privacy, Rufus had to acknowledge that he was a vulnerable as anyone to a moment or two of lingering indulgence. He supposed the arrival of Miss Munro into his daily affairs led naturally into his confidential ones, and her starring role in his fantasies certainly improved his mood, if only momentarily. Being older didn’t mean that Rufus Scrimgeour had forgotten the pleasures of the flesh; it only meant that he knew the all-too-obvious dividing line between reverie and reality.

Besides, he had it on good authority that Miss Munro was in a relationship already. Tonks had let slip that the girl was dating someone named Brian, and even though the relationship seemed on less than steady ground that was no reason to think that he had any business looking into it. None at all, even though Brian David Yarrow, 31, of 23 Bannerbock Drive, Ottery St. Catchpole was a mediocre minor league Quiddich coach and had shockingly high unpaid tabs at all three taverns in town.

Rufus justified this to himself as a background check and felt it gave him all the more reason to keep an eye out for Miss Munro, who undoubtedly needed support in the workplace. Consequently, he’d begun to take his tea break around the same time she did, with the result that they often met at the cart, sharing the sugar tongs and speaking of small matters along with whomever else happened to be there as well. 

The graceful way Miss Munro handled her china cup, and the habit she had of tipping her head slightly to one side as she listened to him speak made Rufus feel deepening warmth inside that had nothing to do with tea. To counter this, he made it a point to occupy himself with the ever-growing caseload and redouble his efforts in solving them, all while keeping the Minister of Magic up-to-date on all developments.

Politics. Rufus hated the way matters had to be handled but accepted the reasoning behind most of it. Fudge counted on him to quell and control rumors about Dark Magic, and most of his team understood that as well. They were loyal, dedicated and by the time the Christmas holidays rolled around, ready for a break.

Christmas meant that the halls of the Ministry were decorated with caroling trees and that all the interdepartmental memos zipped around on green or red paper. Even the fountain in the Atrium was cheery, the water colored in peppermint stripes most of the time. People hung holly around the magic windows and extra strength mistletoe in the doorways. 

On level two, the little office Christmas party was in full swing, and Tonks was already two cups of wassail in, making her hair look like different shades of holiday tinsel while Dawlish egged her on. Shacklebolt was making the candy canes dance a conga line in the air, and the general feeling of goodwill had Mad-Eye nearly smiling.

Nearly.

Rufus wandered through, keeping a paternal eye on the proceedings, and feeling exceptionally glad that the natural optimism of the holiday generally kept the Dark Forces at bay. Whenever good people congregated to celebrate it made it harder for evil attack them, and for that he was grateful. It meant too, that his people could have a break, which they certainly deserved. He accepted a cup of eggnog from Vanessa Cargill, and tried not to appear as if he was searching for anyone in particular.

Still, when Liora showed up nearly a half hour later, Rufus was both relieved and alarmed. She looked lovely in holiday robes of green velvet, but he noticed her eyes were slightly red, and that her greeting was forced. Tonks immediately gravitated to her and led her off to a corner for a chat that he couldn’t quite hear. He listened to Moody expound on foe glass eyeglasses for a while and took in a few glasses of wassail, letting the firewhisky and candied fruit juice burn its way down to his stomach, and all the while he kept an eye on Liora as she gradually joined the party. 

She had several cups of eggnog herself, and as the night wore on she joined in the department-wide caroling, her sweet soprano still on-key despite it all. Rufus managed to work his way to her side, aware of how her perfume smelled . . . lickable. This wasn’t the sort of thing he generally let himself consider, and Rufus Scrimgeour decided he’d had enough drink. 

Shacklebolt offered to make sure that Tonks got home safely, and Moody rounded up Dawlish and Cargill, herding them out to the lift with prods of his wand and promises to give them reindeer antlers for Christmas if they didn’t get moving. Scrimgeour knew they’d all be delivered safely. Many of the offices were clearing out now, and the sounds of people wishing each other good holidays carried through the emptying corridors. Rufus knew he himself should lock things up and let the house elves begin to clean, but his co-ordination was just a tad off, and it took a while to make his way back up to level two.

Liora was there, wonder of wonders, carrying her puffapod and looking far more relaxed than he’d ever seen her before. She’d tucked a small poinsettia behind one ear and the color against her dark hair looked marvelous. Rufus cleared his throat so she wouldn’t be startled by his presence, and when she smiled, he did too.

‘Are you . . . all right then?” he asked gently.

“Yes, actually,” Liora told him. “Sorry about coming in a bit under. I’ve broken things off with someone, and well . . . even though it’s for the best for both of us, he did say a few things that hurt. I needed to be with people who appreciate me tonight.”

“I appreciate you _every_ night, Miss Munro,” he assured her, making his way to her side. “Ohh, that didn’t come out quite right,” he muttered, feeling his face flush, but she giggled.

“That’s all right; it’s quite the nicest thing I’ve heard all day,” she told him. They were walking to the doorway together, and paused in it, turning to look at each other. Rufus noted again how sweet her perfume was, and how blue her eyes were. A little voice whispered seductively, “Go on, one little kiss. You _know_ you want to.”

“What?” he murmured in confusion. The voice wasn’t the usual one inside his head.  
“I didn’t say that,” Liora whispered, “but it’s true. I think it’s the mistletoe.”

Both of them looked up and the small white berries on the branch over their heads giggled. “Time to snog, you two. If you’re under us, it’s time to buss,” they chimed.  
Rufus didn’t want to smile at that, but the idea that an impertinent sprig was giving orders _was_ amusing, and Liora was giggling next to him and wonder of wonders he found himself leaning towards her just as she mirrored his action. 

It was a damned good kiss, soft yet deliberate, and two seconds into it, Rufus Scrimgeour realized how ‘good’ was rapidly accelerating into ‘magnificent’ as Liora nipped his bottom lip in clear invitation. Well he wasn’t head of his department because he was slow on the uptake; Rufus accepted that invitation and then some, making her give a smothered little moan of happiness into his mouth.

That did it; he growled back and suddenly their sweet little kiss became something much more elemental and hot. Liora clung to him, and the press of her body against his felt perfect, her curves meshing with his angles in ways that threatened combustion. Rufus felt the years drop away as the sear of sweet lust rose through him, fueled on by the alcohol burning through his denial. This. This was what he craved, and nothing was going to keep him from it, not even the need for air.

Liora seemed to feel the same way, thank Merlin, since she was squeezing him so tightly if felt like she was trying to pass through him to the other side. Rufus loved the way she clutched him, and groaned his appreciation against her busy little tongue. As far as he was concerned, he’d just been given the best Christmas present ever, and unwrapping it was a _definite_ possibility in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Liora was busy fighting internal combustion. Not only did Rufus Scrimgeour have an extremely talented mouth, but the firm grip he’d clamped on her backside made it clear he wasn’t in any hurry to let go, which was fine by her. More than fine, actually, since she felt like she was melting against the heat of him. She’d _never_ kissed anyone this way before, not even Brian, who kept telling her she was too old-fashioned when he tried to do what Mr. Scrimgeour was succeeding at.

It was so . . . unabashedly elemental. She could feel his muscles, his strength, and the clean masculine scent of him made her light-headed in lovely ways. Liora felt as if she could savor the harbor of his hug for the rest of the night and more. He made her feel hot and restless; if it hadn’t been for the crash of her Puffapod to the floor she might have kissed him all night, but the noise broke into her reverie, and Liora pulled back as a rush of reality washed through her in a cold wave.

She’d _kissed_ Mr. Scrimgeour. Oh Merlin no! She’d shamelessly taken advantage of the poor man under the mistletoe and now she’d ruined everything by being foolish and thoughtless and needy! With a little squeak she jumped back, nearly falling over the Puffapod pot in her haste, and blinked, feeling her face flush hot.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “I’m so, so sorry sir, for _throwing_ myself at you that way! Too much eggnog and I think I can get away with whatever I want--it won’t happen again, I promise!”

“Miss Munro—Liora--” he rumbled, but she couldn’t bear to face him, not after so thoroughly embarrassing herself. 

She pulled away from that lovely embrace and sniffled out, “Happy Christmas sir,” and Apparated away. Moments later, Liora arrived with a ‘pop’ in her rented upper room, into the chill of the night since she’d forgotten to stoke the fire that morning, and the place was both bleak and damp. Liora stood for a moment in the darkness, trying to keep her balance, and missing the warmth of Mr. Scrimgeour.

Without warning the tears came, and Liora let them fall for a while. Stupid; she’d let her hormones and loneliness get the better of her. Just because Brian had been a rotten pile of doxie droppings to her, shouting loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, telling her he was glad to break up now and save the expense of a Christmas present. She’d gone to the party, had too much to drink and let herself make a play for dear Mr. Scrimgeour all because she’d gotten maudlin.

Finally, she moved to light the fire just as Sigmund slunk into the room and wound his way around her ankles, his warmth a bit of comfort she appreciated. He looked up at her, his fluffy black fur looking dusty, and Liora laughed despite herself as she bent to pet him. “Been squeezing under the bed again, looking for spiders?”

He miaowed agreement, and cast a glance around the room, on the alert. She’d never known a kneazle so in love with the hunt for eight-legged prey, and the flat was definitely an insect-free zone. Hoisting his pudgy body up, Liora brought Sigmund to her shoulder; he sniffed suspiciously at her hair and face. 

She blushed. “I did a terrible thing, Sigmund.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then purred as loudly as a hive of bees, and the reassuring sound made Liora relax. She carried him with her to the bed and deposited both of them on it. 

“I kissed Mr. Scrimgeour,” Liora went on, “a very definite full-on kiss that can’t possibly explained away except that maybe Tonks’ eggnog was seriously spiked. Anyway, it’s beside the point; I’ll never be able to look him in the face from now on and I’ll have to tell Mr. Ollivander that I cannot do the consulting job anymore,” she confessed. 

Sigmund looked up from his paw-washing, flicked an ear at her, and went back to his ablutions. Used to his nonjudgmental actions, Liora continued as she stretched out on the bed. “Oh Sig, I am such a fool. There are thousands of reasons why I shouldn’t have done what I did and yet right here and now I don’t regret it at all. It was wonderful!” she sighed. “It was as if nothing else in the world mattered right then, and I don’t think I can stand the thought that I’ll have to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Distantly the sound of church chimes carried over the still night, and Liora draped an arm over her eyes, softly crying herself to sleep.

Christmas morning was one of the worst that Liora had ever had. She whimpered in pain as the sunlight hit her face, and when she rolled away from it, she found herself with a pillow full of dirty socks and spider legs thoughtfully left there for her by Sigmund. She jerked away too hard, rolled off the bed and bruised her hip when she landed the floor.  
After brushing her teeth and showering, she took a Happy Head Hangover potion and opened the few presents from her two aunts, then took a long broomride in the countryside, letting the frosty air chill her thoroughly. When Liora arrived home, a shivering and annoyed young owl was waiting on the windowsill.

She took the letter from his leg, fed him a dried mouse treat, and carried the note inside, dreading the moment when she’d have to open it, but when she saw the handwriting was Garrick Ollivander’s, she sighed.

 _Liora my dear,_ it began, _Season’s greetings. I hate to impose on the holidays, but our supplies of wand cores have gotten dangerously low; therefore I would like you to locate the herd of unicorns just north of BonnyBrae. They sequester near the creeks for the winter, and if you would collect any tail hairs shed I would pay you a bonus of a galleon for each. On the off-chance that the stallion may have shed his horn, that would bring at least five galleons an ounce should you collect any. I have orders in for dragon heartstring and Veela hair that should be coming by owl from the continent and a source tells me that a supply of Manticore whiskers may be available soon as well. Wishing you the best, and looking forward to seeing you in January, G. Ollivander._

She re-read the note, feeling slightly heartened. A trip into the countryside sounded better all the time. This would give her time to collect her thoughts and avoid having to face anyone at the Ministry right away . . . yes, this looked like just the ticket. Liora left the note on her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, preparing to draw up a list of supplies she’d need for a camping trip. 

“We’re off to Bonnybrae, Sig—lots of birds and trees and quiet,” she told the kneazle, who had hopped on the desk. “Just the two of us with a clean start to the New Year, right?”

Sigmund gave her a long look, his lavender eyes wide and unblinking.

*** *** *** 

Christmas was a bother, Rufus thought to himself. Too much empty time at the edges of the days and forced cheerfulness in the middle. He’d accepted Shacklebolt’s invitation to Christmas dinner because Sethunya’s meals were legendary, and because it would be churlish to break a three year tradition. Rufus brought a bottle of wine and several presents, played Wizard’s chess with Kingsley’s seven year old daughter Claudia-Ngozi and tried to be a good guest, although he sensed his host was aware of a false note to his mood throughout the evening.

When Sethunya put Claudia-Ngozi to bed, she left the two of them before the fire with their wine, and Rufus tried not to give in to Kingsley’s patient stare.

He held out for nearly twenty minutes; a fairly remarkable achievement, but Rufus finally sighed and rolled his eyes, unable to hold out longer than that. Kingsley laughed, a low deep sound. “So _tell_ me what’s on your mind, Scrimgeour.”

“I’d put up a better defense if the wine wasn’t so good,” Rufus protested. “Occlumency and vintage port don’t mix.”

“I think this has to do with a certain wandmaker,” Kingsley predicted, lifting his glass to examine it. “Am I close?”

Rufus grumbled, his face warm now from more than the fire. “What makes you say _that?_ For all you know I might harbor tender feelings for the tea lady, or that stentorian receptionist in the Apparation licensing office.”

“You might,” Kingsley agreed, his teeth gleaming in the low light, “but I rather doubt it. Edie’s been married for years, and Miss Von Glatt isn’t interested in wizards. No, I think this is about Liora Munro, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“And _I_ think,” Rufus complained, “that you’re too damned good at Legilimency. This isn’t Auror business you know, just an old man’s foolishness.”

“You’re hardly old, and it’s not foolish to find the girl attractive,” Kingsley replied cheerfully. “Frankly I’m delighted.”

“Merlin’s beard, why?” Rufus growled. “It’s not as if anything can come of it. She’s young and has a life out beyond the offices of the Ministry. Certainly she shouldn’t waste her time with a parchment-pushing, monster-chasing animagus like me.”

Kingsley said nothing for a long moment, and the fire crackled in the quiet. He shifted a little, and then took a sip of his wine before murmuring, “I find it hard to believe, Rufus, that after facing giants and vampires, you’re afraid of a woman who barely clears your shoulder.”

“I’m not afraid of her!” Rufus protested.

“Then you dislike her?” Kingsley asked.

“I didn’t say that either.” Rufus wished they would stop talking about Liora since the memory of the kiss was still so very close to mind.

“Oh good, because I would hate to think that all that snogging under the mistletoe was wasted,” his host chuckled, and Rufus Scrimgeour sank low into his seat, wishing it was a tub of Devil’s Snare that would pull him from sight. He cursed under his breath as Kingsley went on. “Yes, I had to come back for my cloak and I must say the two of you were as pretty a holiday sight as I’ve ever seen, Rufus. Not that I stayed long, but there you are.”

“This conversation is over,” Rufus announced, trying to sound curt, but he only succeeded in bleating. “Officially over.”

“Is it now?” Kingsley asked, still smiling. “Well then, I will be keeping an eye on developments with interest.”

“There _are_ no developments,” Rufus snapped. “Liora and I had a bit of an encounter, egged on by mistletoe. It could have happened to anyone!”

“Of course,” Kingsley agreed. “Although I seriously doubt Miss Munro would have given her all that way for Alastor, or Dawlish. No, I’m fairly sure she’s pining for you, Rufus, but as you say, the conversation is over. For now.”

True to his word Kingsley said nothing more but his smile throughout the evening reminded Rufus of the exchange, and he went home feeling disgruntled to the extreme. He had total recall; a skill he’d honed along with Occlumency and Legilimency, and Rufus took a moment on the trip home to do precisely what Kingsley had suggested: he thought back to Liora’s precise words.

As he did so, Rufus realized that her phrasing made it clear and unmistakable. She wanted him. Liora Munro wanted HIM.

This was an unexpected turnabout. Once he’d reached the staid Victorian mansion he lived in, Rufus found himself pacing the floors, muttering aloud as Cora tried to keep her balance on his shoulder.

“She _does_ fancy me. Here I thought . . . well I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought since it certainly wasn’t correct. Cora, the girl definitely feels something for me.”

Cora cocked her head at him. She was a lean, elderly crow he’d rescued after a windy storm several years ago, and perhaps the closest thing Rufus had to a confidant. Given her intelligence and empathy, Rufus had little doubt that she’d been someone’s familiar at some point, but no-one had ever come answering his notice in the Prophet all those years ago, and he was rather glad of it.

Cora eyed him and Rufus sighed. “I’m sure that a percentage of her declaration was fueled by spirits, as was my own response, but under all that there was—is—a grain of true attraction. Am I too old, Cora? Has it been too long?” 

The bird fluffed her wings at him and Rufus took that as a good sign; he managed a smirk and began to consider what to do. There were a few days before everyone returned to work, and in that time Rufus thought he might be able to find some way to possibly ask Miss Munro out.

It was a daunting prospect. Rufus realized he hadn’t actually spent any time socializing in several years, and had no real idea of what Liora’s interests were. They’d had several nice conversations, and a few spectacular kisses, but all he could remember was that she liked the Holyhead Harpies, chamber music and Fortesque’s ice cream sundaes. That last was a hopeful thought, and Rufus considered the possibility of stopping into Diagon Alley on an errand to Ollivander’s at some point soon. A freezing charm would keep any confectionary from melting on the trip back to the Ministry . . .

On this happy consideration, Rufus returned Cora to her perch, climbed into bed and fell asleep.

The first day back, Rufus dressed carefully and arrived at the office far too early. The place was clean and empty, but Rufus looked to the doorway where the mistletoe had hung. It was gone, but Rufus still felt a pang of arousal passing under where it had been.

He tackled the large stack of parchment rolls on his desk keeping one ear cocked. Rufus heard the arrival of Kingsley and the others a while later but the familiar soft little step that he waited for didn’t happen, so after a while he pushed himself away from the desk and looked out of his office to the cubicles.

Dawlish, Tonks, Moody and Kingsley were there, and the tea trolley was coming in, but Miss Munro’s desk was still empty. Rufus looked at the magic hourglass on the wall, frowning.

“Oy sir, is Liora coming in today?” Tonks asked cheerily, moving to choose an iced bun from the trolley.

“I believe she was _supposed_ to be here,” Rufus replied distractedly. This delay bothered him, threw off all his plans.

“Not like her to be late,” Tonks observed. “Hope she’s all right.”

Rufus helped himself to tea, scowling a bit. “I do as well.”

 

The day went on, and not only did Liora _not_ show up, there was also no owl bearing any sort of message from her either. By the end of the second day, Rufus decided to stop in to Ollivander’s to see what was going on. He made his way to Diagon Alley and set out, not sure what he would say to Miss Munro should she be here. His confidence wore away with each step towards the shop, and by the time he crossed the threshold, Rufus found himself cross and tense.

Ollivander was there, his while mop of hair visible in the gloom, He glided over and his expression looked surprised. “Mr. Scrimgeour, what an unexpected surprise. Is everything all right?”

“Is Miss Munro here?” Rufus asked, a bit tersely. 

Ollivander shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her since before the holidays. I assumed she had gone to the Ministry.”

Rufus shook his head, feeling his concern shift, and deepen. “She didn’t come in yesterday nor today, and none of us have received an owl from her. Missing people are a _definite_ concern, Ollivander.”

The wandmaker nodded, wide-eyed. “Oh dear yes. You know, she may still be out on an errand for me . . .” he murmured. “I asked her a favor over the holidays and it’s quite possible she’s still doing so.”

“Yes?” Rufus fixed Ollivander in a steely gaze, and the older man wilted slightly.

“Bonnybrae. Locals believe that a herd of unicorns winter there, and I asked Liora if she’d mind gathering up any stray mane hairs along the windbreaks and hedges . . .”

“When was this?”

“Just after Christmas. She’d sent a note saying she’d do it, and come to think of it I haven’t heard back from her yet.”

“And that didn’t strike you as odd?” Rufus tried not to let his exasperation show, but from the way Ollivander flinched it was clear that he felt the annoyance.

“Miss Munro has gathered wand cores from time to time at my request, Mr. Scrimgeour, and I have every confidence in her common sense,” the wandmaker replied meekly. “She is a credit to the wandmaker’s craft.”

“Be that as it may,” Rufus pointed out, “she’s just as likely to fall afoul of a dragon, or a Death Eater as anyone else. You _should_ have set a specific return date, or barring that sent an owl.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ollivander sighed, “I simply didn’t realize Liora was still . . . out.”

“I’m going to Bonnybrae and see if I can locate her,” Scrimgeour decided. “I’ll send you an owl in the next three days, and if she returns before I do, send one along to me as well, do you understand?”

“Certainly, certainly,” Ollivander nodded. “I do hope she’s all right.”

“As do I,” Rufus agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

Finding the unicorns hadn’t been a problem for Liora. She’d hiked her way into the Bonnybrae woods, guided by helpful directions at the tavern five miles back, and now was encamped in the low valley where the stream ran. It was fairly sheltered from the wind, and although there wasn’t any snow on the ground, the mornings and evenings were properly chilly. 

Finding unicorns had been easy; leaving them however, was proving impossible.

Liora had always been good with magical creatures; she had patience and a mellow nature that worked well when dealing with everything from pixies to poltergeists. There were a lot she wasn’t fond of—she’d been terrified of the Giant Squid in the lake at Hogwarts for example—but on the whole Liora could deal competently with most fantastic beasts.

The unicorns were . . . insidious. Liora had found the small herd of three mares, one stallion and four foals to be a gentle group with no fear of and no animosity towards her. She’d set out apple slices from her bottomless backpack, and made it a point to move slowly around them, speaking in quiet tones. After a few hours, she’d felt one of the foals nuzzle her sleeve, and from that point all of them wanted to be petted. Liora used the curry combs and brushes, giving each mare and the stallion an hour of grooming, feeling pleased to be accepted by the herd. The end of the day had netted her five tail hairs and some of the fuzz from the colt’s hides—not a bad collection at all.

She’d pitched the two room tent and stayed two days longer, letting Sigmund explore and stalk birds while she re-read The Ways of the Wand. Ollivander was a traditionalist when it came to wands, and favored the tried and true woods found in England, but Liora wanted to experiment. Would bamboo work? Had anyone made a wand from petrified wood? If a wand could take a dual core, could a wand be made of spliced woods? She had so many questions, and Liora hoped when she returned with a bounty of cores that Ollivander might let her test a few theoretical ideas.

On the third day Liora packed up her tent, put Sigmund into the sling on her shoulder, bid a gentle farewell to the unicorns and started out. She walked over the rise of the nearest hill . . . and found herself back in the valley. 

This was unexpected, and she set out again, chalking it up to some sort of disorientation, but once more as she tried to pass the top of the nearest hill a moment later she was standing next to the stream, and the unicorns were ambling closer, nuzzling her. Liora petted them, looked to the sky and tried to figure out precisely what was going on. It took three more tries before she realized that her four-legged friends had established a magical perimeter around the valley, and that while this undoubtedly was what kept them safe from predators, it was also keeping her penned up with them.

Liora didn’t quite know what to do. The unicorns came up for their grooming, brushing against her in the friendliest way, and Sigmund scampered off to watch the fish in the stream, leaving her to ponder the issue. She tried walking slowly, tried walking backwards, tried walking with her eyes closed as she got near the perimeter, but to no avail.

She tried to Apparate next. Liora wasn’t as comfortable with Apparation as a form of transport when she wasn’t completely certain of her destination but it didn’t matter because no matter how hard she concentrated, nothing happened. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her Cleansweep, mounting it and rising up to the treetops, but the broom refused to move beyond the outer edge of the forest, repelled by an unseen but definitely felt, force.

It wasn’t in her nature to panic, but Liora felt a definite sense of disquiet. It took a few hours, but she’d found the edge, and figured that the perimeter was about two miles. Space enough not to feel too cramped, but for the moment, inescapable as well. It had started out as disconcerting, but now Liora felt a sense of annoyance building as well. She put the tent back up, re-started her campfire and tried to think of what to do.

Her backpack still held plenty of food since she’d planned to be travelling for at least another few weeks so that wasn’t an issue for the moment, and the tent was comfortable enough, if a bit frilly. She’d borrowed it from her Aunt Zelda, and the décor within had chintz of a very pink rose variety. There were lots of throw pillows and thick rugs, and the bed in the adjoining room had nothing less than a full canopy. Aunt Zelda generally used the tent when going on holiday at the seaside, and liked her creature comforts.

No, the issue now was how to break the protective ward that the unicorns had cast. Liora wondered if it had always been there, or if the herd had put it up after they realized how good she was at grooming them. None of the books she’d brought on the trip had much information on unicorns, and she herself only remembered the basics about them.

She and Sigmund snuggled down for the night.

The next two days were rainy, and Liora kept inside most of the time, stepping out only to greet the herd and fish for some of the minnows that Sigmund liked for breakfast. None of the unicorns seemed much bothered by the rain until a thunderstorm rolled in by the late afternoon. When the winds began to whip up, they trotted off to the deeper center of the woods and Liora scurried back to her tent, adding a few more Anchoring charms before tying down the doors and making hot cocoa. She wished she’d arranged for an owl before she’d some to Bonnybrae, but then again, Liora hadn’t anticipated any problems, much less being held captive by friendly unicorns.

She snorted and turned her thoughts to work. Mr. Ollivander would miss her eventually, but Liora worried more about the folks at the Ministry. Tonks would be sure to notice her absence, and possibly even . . . Rufus Scrimgeour might. Liora was caught between hoping he did and hoping he didn’t. Her stomach still twisted in tingly knots at the memory of his kisses, and the thought of him being concerned about her made Liora a bit weak at the knees.

“It would be sweet to think he might be worried, but I’m sure he’s got more important things to deal with,” she told Sigmund, who was stalking a dragonfly on one of the big rocks near the creek. “If anything he’ll probably send someone else out— Tonks most likely, and won’t _she_ have a laugh about all this.”

There was one thing Liora hadn’t tried, and she waited until sunset. Once the sky was dark, she raised her wand and sent bright red sparks up into the night. They rose up and barely passed the treetops before being deflected and scattered, looking vaguely like a red umbrella. Liora scowled at the nearest mare. “I know what you’re doing,” she accused.

The mare looked innocently beautiful and whickered. Liora merely sighed and headed for the tent.

 

A few more days passed, and Liora fell into a routine. She made copious notes on The Way of the Wand, and walked the perimeter both morning and night. She went fishing in the creek and played with the unicorn foals in the afternoons. It would have been a lovely vacation all told, if it wasn’t for the minor problem of not being able to leave.

Every night Liora made it a point to send the sparks up, reasoning with herself that someone might eventually see them and come find her. Bonnybrae was off the beaten path, but sooner or later she would be missed . . . she hoped. In the meantime, she tried to reason with the stallion and figure out how to breech the bubble.

*** *** *** 

The Chalk and Cheese pub was typical of a Muggle institution, but Rufus was alert for the signs and noticed that the elderly man at the table near the door was wearing a Puddlemere United scarf. He caught the man’s eye, nodded, then sat down opposite him when the other waved at the table.

“Geoffrey Swanson,” the man murmured, holding out a hand. Rufus took off his cap and held out a hand, being gentle as he shook the arthritic fingers in his.

“Rufus Scrimgeour.”

“Walking tour?” the other wizard asked, noting the Norfolk suit that Rufus wore. “You know there’s stories of unicorns in the woods yonder.”

“Interesting,” Rufus replied, and leaned closer, keeping his voice low. “Actually, I’m looking for one of ours who may have passed this way a week or two back.”

Geoffrey Swanson perked up a bit. “A girl? Dark haired lass?”

Rufus nodded, feeling a sense of relief. “That would be the one. She was due back at the Ministry and hasn’t returned yet.”

“That’s bad,” Geoffrey rumbled, and looked out the window. “She came in a while back, pretty thing, very good with the Muggles. Asked about the unicorns and I sent her towards the woods. She’s missing you say?”

“She is,” Rufus replied. “How far are the unicorns?”

“A few miles up the road and bear left,” Geoffrey told him. “Most of the Muggles around here think the woods are haunted because of the wards the herd has cast over it.”

“Wards?” Rufus thought back to what he knew of unicorns.

Geoffrey nodded. “This herd’s led by one of the Avalon stallions; they’ve brighter than most, but they’re not dangerous.”

After a few more pleasantries, Rufus left the pub and hiked in the direction Geoffrey Swanson had indicated, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. At the five mile mark he veered off into the woods, and the sudden tingle along his skin told him he’d reached the right place. As he moved deeper into the dimness, he pulled out his wand and murmured “Homenum revelio.”

A faint glow through the trees revealed itself, and Rufus smiled to himself. He pocketed his wand and strode forward, keeping an eye on the spot where he’d seen the glow, moving steadily deeper into the woods. Periodically he re-cast the spell and eventually reached the edge of a clearing, where Rufus peered out.

There was a tent and a fire in a ring of stones, and milling around, a pair of unicorns. Rufus could see that the stallion of the two was both large and alert, his head up. It was likely that the unicorn sensed his approach, so Rufus did what seemed best.

He shifted, letting his form melt from man into beast, transfiguring into his Animagus with relative grace. Rufus hadn’t gone into lion form in over a year, but the process was still familiar and he took a moment to settle into his new shape before quietly padding out of the woods and into the clearing.

The effect was immediate; the stallion gave a whinny and in fright, the mare dashed off. Rufus was pleased, and looked around, hoping for a glimpse of whoever the tent belonged to. That was a mistake; as he swung his shaggy head, the stallion lowered his horn and charged. Sensing the attack, Rufus twisted, but not quickly enough; the tip of the unicorn’s horn jabbed into his back left leg. Rufus roared and slapped a paw towards the stallion, batting him away in desperation. The unicorn pulled his horn free and circled around, and in that moment Rufus heard someone running over the stony ground.

Liora stood there, glorious in a thin blue sweater and jeans, looking aghast. She pulled out her wand, and tried to point it at him, but before she could say anything he made a few limping hops, and blundered into the tent.

He collapsed on the rug and shifted back, hoping the pain would fade but it didn’t; when Rufus looked down at his knee the blood seeped down his breeches and stocking. He cursed.

“M-Mr. Scrimgeour?” Liora called in an astonished voice from the other side of the tent canvas.

“Yes!” he managed. “I’m not sure I much like your associate out there!”

The tent flaps parted and Liora darted in, her expression an interesting blend of surprise, concern and delight. “Oh Mr. Scrimgeour I’m _so_ glad to see you!”

“Just Rufus,” he corrected her, managing a quick smile that twisted as another throb of pain shot through his knee. “And not to cut short the niceties but I need some help here.”

Liora was already crouching down, tugging at his stocking and examining the wound, her wand out. She cast a cleaning charm which took care of the blood and peered at the injury, her lips puckered in worry. “I can bandage it, Muggle-style, but I don’t really know any healing spells . . .”

“That would be fine,” Rufus nodded. “Once we leave here you can take me to St. Mungo’s.”

“Leaving’s impossible,” Liora told him, bringing a small kit and unpacking bandages. “I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried sir, but—” 

“Please do stop calling me ‘sir’ my dear. And what do you mean, it’s impossible?” Rufus asked, sitting up and awkwardly rolling down his stocking to reveal a pale expanse of slightly furry shin.

“I’ve tried Apparating, walking, flying . . . So far nothing’s worked, as I guess you can see,” she murmured in a discouraged tone. “It’s been infuriating.”

“How long has this been going on?” he sat up, ignoring the twinges and looked at her. 

Liora glanced over at him, her face slightly pink. “Nearly two weeks now. I think it’s the unicorns doing it. There, is that all right?” She’d tied off the bandage and was patting it very gently. Rufus flexed his foot, gave a nod and rolled his stocking back up, thinking hard the entire time. He was delighted to have found her, true, but this new dilemma was a bit more than he’d bargained for. Rufus Scrimgeour was more comfortable going up against Dark Wizards, Ogres and Trolls; unicorns weren’t his forte since they were generally on the side of the good.

“Thank you very much,” he told Liora. “I’d hoped to frighten him off as I did the mare, but apparently the stallion out there is made of sterner stuff.”

She gave a resigned nod. “He is. I’m just glad nothing worse happened. That’s was a marvelous change by the by. Very impressive.”

Rufus waved a hand, though he was flattered by her sincerity. “It was nothing; an occasionally helpful bit of magic I haven’t practiced in a while. So you’ve been here nearly a fortnight? No chance to send an owl?”

“We’re off the beaten path for the post, and I didn’t bring one,” Liora admitted. “Honestly, I’ve been on the verge of trying to send a message with my Patronus and was waiting until nightfall to do it. However did you find me?”

As she spoke she moved to sit next to him on the rug and Rufus appreciated her grace. He pretended to study his shoe, not looking at her. “When you didn’t arrive for work I went round to Ollivander, who put me onto your trip to Bonnybrae. He didn’t seem overly concerned until I chided him a bit about it.”

Liora shrugged. “That’s his way. Wands come first, people second.”

“His priorities need straightening,” Rufus growled, and risked a peek at her.

Liora’s smile twisted a bit, and she rose, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. “True, but I’m hardly the person to tell him so. In any case I’m grateful you’re here and I hope you can figure out something I may have overlooked because I’m getting very tired of this valley.”

Rufus made to reply, but at that moment a dark mound of fur and whiskers pushed through the flaps of the tent and waddled towards the nearest chair. It spotted him and veered to have a good sniff of his shoes, weaving around in the process.

Liora squatted to pet the ball of black fur affectionately. “This is Sigmund, my overly-familiar.”

“Kneazle. Very nice. My mother had one about that size,” Rufus told her. “Name of Rafael. Could eat an entire cold stream salmon in two minutes flat.”

At the word ‘salmon’ Sigmund looked up expectantly, whiskers flicking. Rufus bent down and gave the animal a light scratch behind the ears which was much appreciated. A low purr rumbled out, and Liora smiled.

“That doesn’t happen very often. He’s picky about who he makes friends with.”

Rufus gave an understanding nod. “Yes, that’s their nature, certainly. I’m sure he would have alerted you to me had I been slower. How have the unicorns been treating you?” he shifted to one of the overstuffed armchairs and extended his injured leg.

Liora brought a tuffet over and propped it under his foot. “They like me,” she admitted. “I suppose they’ve been groomed before because they certainly enjoy it. I’ve got to do each of them everyday or they get jealous of each other. They’re patient and quiet, and the foals are darlings of course, little long-legged clowns!”

Rufus gave a patient nod. “That fits with everything I’ve known about them. Anything else? Anything unusual?”

It was a pleasure to watch Liora think; she frowned prettily and paced a bit. “Well, the stallion, Forte, seems much more intelligent than average. I get the impression that he honestly does understand most of what I’ve said to him.”

“Forte?” Rufus questioned gently.

“He’s strong. Forceful when you come down to it,” Liora replied, rolling her eyes. “Given his nature I’m not surprised he charged you. The mares are Faith, Hope, and Charity, and the foals are Tom, Dick, Harry, and Antoinette.” 

Rufus raised an eyebrow, amused at both the names and Liora’s blush as she defensively added, “Well I had to call them _something_ , didn’t I? Anyway, they’re all awfully bright but Forte is well, uncanny.”

“I heard that he’s one of the Avalon unicorns,” Rufus commented. “That means he’s definitely smarter than the usual beast. It might take a while to figure out how to overcome his protective cast. In the meantime, what have you tried and what do you know?” He felt that keeping her talking would help them both move forward, and as long as they were working on the common problem they might not hit too many awkward moments.

Liora brightened and set about making tea, talking over her shoulder to him while Sigmund leapt into Rufus’ lap and settled in comfortably. By the time tea was ready, Liora trailed off with, “and so I’ve pretty much exhausted everything I can think of. I hope you’ve got some suggestions, because I really don’t fancy being a unicorn groomer for the rest of my life.”

“Well I suppose you could do a poor job of it and get them annoyed,” Rufus replied, “although that might lead to a few unpleasant responses as well. There’s one thing I need to try though, and that’s seeing if the binding affects both of us, or you alone.”

“You’re not moving,” Liora told him firmly. “You’ll start bleeding again if you do!”

“I’ll be fine,” Rufus asserted, and rose up. His leg hurt, true, but not as much as before. He managed to reach the door flaps of the tent when he felt Liora move next to him. She held out a cane, an old one of some mahogany colored wood and sighed.

“My auntie Zelda’s stick. She used it when camping; didn’t like bringing her silver-tipped one on trips. If you’re so determined to check I don’t suppose I can stop you, but I won’t have you over-exerting yourself.”

Rufus murmured his thanks and looked out cautiously. None of the unicorns were in sight, so he stepped out, looking around. Nothing seemed out of place.

“Best to come with me, don’t you think? That will give us a clearer idea about the boundary.”

“All right,” she agreed hesitantly. They moved off together, towards the trees.


	4. Chapter 4

Liora felt a bit tongue-tied. She’d hoped to be missed, that someone would come rescue her, but to have it Mr. Scrimgeour himself—Rufus—she reminded herself, was both awkward and wonderful. She’d heard from Shacklebolt that he was an Animagus but didn’t know what animal, so seeing him in lion form had been a real surprise. The other of course had been Forte’s response, but Liora supposed that the stallion had been feeling protective. After all, he had not only his mares to defend but the foals as well, and a lion was one of the few predators that even a unicorn feared.

She feared Rufus a bit herself, actually. He seemed to have forgotten their last encounter, and Liora wasn’t about to bring it up, so she kept her expression cheerful as she walked next to him, stealing sidelong glances his way. 

He looked different out in the countryside. At the ministry, Rufus Scrimgeour was a bit old-fashioned with his long tawny hair and formal robes, but under the trees at Bonnybrae, Liora liked how he looked like he belonged here. She hadn’t noticed how his eyes were a gold color with hints of green in them, or how his sideburns looked soft. Liora tried not to let her thoughts go there, and cleared her throat. “Leg all right?”

“Not bad,” he sighed, and added, “thank you for the stick; this does help a bit.”

She nodded, feeling a little relieved. “We’re getting close now, that is, to where the barrier is,” Liora rushed on nervously.

“Can you sense it?” came his question, and she nodded.

“It feels a bit like a repelling charm, that sort of push to it that will get stronger the closer I get. Do you feel it too?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Let me know when you cannot go forward, would you my dear?”

The term of affection made her knees wobble a bit, and Liora tried not to stumble. She felt the sudden warm grip along her elbow and steadied herself as Rufus supported her. “Thank you.”

They encountered the barrier about fifteen steps further on; Liora halted, her hands out against the invisible wall while Rufus stepped through it. He turned, reached one arm back through the barrier and waved his fingers invitingly. 

“Take my hand,” Rufus encouraged. “Let me see if I can pull you.”

The experiment didn’t work. Liora gripped his callused palm and trustingly let him pull, but she hit the barrier lightly and was forced to let go. Rufus stood with a frown, mulling over the matter before he stepped back through to her side. “Can Sigmund pass through?”

“I suppose he could, although he’s stayed with me all this time,” Liora replied. 

“For the best,” Rufus nodded. He gave a sigh and held out the crook of his arm to her. “Well, I think we need to go back and re-think our strategy.” 

They made it back to the campsite, and as they approached it, one of the mares looked up and nervously trotted away from Rufus. He moved slowly into the tent, calling back through the flaps to Liora. “It looks like my presence upsets them no matter what form I am in. I’ll just stay in here for a bit, shall I?”

“Yes, that might be best,” Liora agreed ruefully. “Let me bank the fire and I’ll be with you directly.”

When she’d finished and came in, she saw that Rufus had settled back into the armchair and was tapping his leg with his wand. “Episkey,” he murmured to it.

“Any better?” Liora asked gently.

He looked up at her and gave a concerned smile as he flexed his calf. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure. It’s always a bit complicated when an injury is from a magical source. Unicorns are, well, rare. They’re not as well-known or understood the way other beasts are you see, so I’m not sure what may interfere with healing. What IS important is that we figure a way out of this conundrum.”

Liora waved her wand and reheated their tea, then took a seat in the chair opposite him. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” she sighed. “Honestly. I didn’t mean for this to get so difficult. It’s just that when Mr. Ollivander suggested the trip I rushed into it, and I didn’t certainly didn’t expect that _you_ would have to come find me . . .” she trailed off, feeling her face heat up.

Liora heard Rufus sigh, and risked a peek at him over her teacup rim. He looked a bit flushed himself.

“Liora dear, there’s something I _must_ say. I . . . apologize for my behavior,” he muttered, gazing down at his own teacup. “That is, at the Christmas party. I certainly didn’t act the way a gentleman should, and it’s been on my mind ever since.”

She felt her blush grow even hotter now, and set her cup down to keep it from shaking. “No, no that was entirely _my_ fault! I’d had more to drink than I should have, and after that awful scene with Brian, I simply went a bit too far. I never meant to throw myself at you . . .” she trailed off helplessly, wishing she could sink through the floor of the tent and disappear.

“Yes, well,” she heard him murmur slowly. “I suppose we shall simply put it behind us then.”

“Yes,” Liora agreed in a rush. “Oh certainly!”

They both dropped into silence of the hot and red-faced sort, and Liora wished she had some sense of what he was thinking. Was he annoyed with her for putting him in such an awkward position? First the party and now this difficulty with the unicorns . . . Liora felt that once they’d sorted this mess out that resigning as the Auror’s consultant would probably be for the best. She doubted she could ever make things right with Rufus Scrimgeour now, not after this double fiasco.

A lean black bird flew into the tent. Startled, Liora rose, but it darted past her to land on the back of Rufus’ chair, and he looked up, smiling. “Cora! Clever girl . . . I thought you’d get lonely after a while.” Looking to Liora he added, “I think we’ll be able to get messages in and out now. This is Cora Corvus, who is rather too smart for her own good at times.”

At the mention of her name, Cora dipped her head and gave a soft ‘caw’ in a show of manners that made Liora smile. 

“She’s lovely!”

“As crows go,” Rufus agreed, and turned to look up at the bird. “And fortuitous. I’ve a message for you to deliver to Shacklebolt, but in a while. I’m certain Miss Munro has some water and possibly a few consumables for you while I compose the note.”

Liora nodded and moved to the kitchen, opening up a tin of salmon bits; as if summoned, Sigmund appeared and trotted over, determined to benefit from this unexpected good luck. When Cora fluttered over and landed on the counter, Sigmund paused, eyeing her cautiously.

“This is Miss Cora; she’ll be staying with us a while,” Liora told him. “And because she’s a guest, she gets the first dish.”

Sigmund looked sulky, but continued to circle Liora’s ankles as she scooped out a serving and set it before Cora. Liora filled a second bowl and set it on the floor, where the kneazle made short work of the contents. Liora returned to the living room where Rufus had just finished writing a note and looked up. 

“Just letting Kingsley know that I’ve located you and that we’ll be returning shortly.”

“That’s a bit optimistic,” Liora pointed out. 

Rufus drew in a heavy breath. “Yes well we may need to appeal for outside help if something doesn’t change soon. In the meantime, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to attempt to see the unicorns again.”

They spent the better part of the afternoon outside, watching the herd. The skies had clouded over and there was a scent of snow in the air as the foals finally came close enough for Rufus to pet. Tom, Dick, and Harry were still skittish, but Antoinette nibbled his sleeve and leaned against him, her stubby tail flicking happily. Liora laughed quietly at the sight.

Rufus looked over at her, his expression caught between wry amusement and a hint of exasperation. “And what, precisely, is so funny?”

“She’s . . . flirting with you,” Liora pointed out. “The little hussy.”

Rufus looked startled at this observation. “Is she? Surely not! I’m not even the same species.” 

“It’s all in the hands,” Liora told him, watching as Rufus slid his along the foal’s neck, his long fingers making lazy circles against the fuzzy fur there. She felt an unexpected pang of jealousy that Liora instantly dismissed when he glanced over at her.

“Ah. So she’ll never care about my hopes and dreams I suppose,” he sighed in a tone of playful exaggeration. “No long walks in the moonlight, or cozy tea for two.”

Liora giggled. “I doubt it, unless you bring along a few carrots or sugar lumps. Antoinette is a single-minded little thing.”

As if aware of being talked about, the unicorn foal sneezed and bounded away, her leaps frisky. Rufus watched her go, and Liora watched him, admiring his profile anew. Then he turned to look at her, catching her gaze and Liora blushed once more.

“I can see how they’ve all charmed you,” Rufus murmured. “Little scamps.”

“I’d rather collect wand cores from _them_ than from dragons or manticores,” Liora admitted. “Although it really is past time to move on.”

“Yes. As I see it, the difficulty lies in figuring out your connection to them,” he pointed out, moving to walk alongside her, “and gently severing that bond.”

A thought occurred to Liora then; an absurdly obvious thought that made her break out in gooseflesh and stop in mid-step.

Unicorns trusted virgins. It was universally known belief the wizarding world over, and Liora knew now it was true. She definitely qualified—overqualified truth be told--, and the proof of it couldn’t be any plainer than her current dilemma. Liora hadn’t thought about herself in such terms prior to the arrival of Rufus, but his presence now reminded her as always of her inexperience in aching and confused ways, and it all fit.

Forte and his family wanted to keep her around because she was as pure as a grown witch could be.

Unexpectedly she giggled, the embarrassed laughter spilling out of her, spluttering in the still winter air. Horrified, Liora tried to stifle herself by coving her face with her hands, but the sound still squeezed between her fingers, a snorty noise that made Rufus stop and stare at her in alarm.

“Liora, are you all right my dear?”

“No,” she managed, “and yes. Oh God this is embarrassing!”

*** 

Rufus kept his gaze on her, aware that the flush along her face was highly attractive, and that whatever had her stricken couldn’t possibly be as bad as she seemed to think it was. “Surely it can’t be that bad, whatever it is,” he encouraged, moving closer.

“It’s . . . it’s me. It’s because I’m . . .” she stammered, avoiding his gaze and shifted from side to side in agitation. Rufus reached out and caught her hands, pulling her towards him.

“Whatever you are I’m sure it’s nothing we cannot make right,” he assured her. This made her burst into fresh giggles, and Rufus found himself squeezing Liora’s hands to help her calm down. 

She looked up at him then, and those bright blue eyes finally met his as she blurted, “I’m a virgin.”

He blinked, and a sudden welling of surprise, relief, and damn it, arousal surged through him. It fit, Rufus realized, _all_ of it—most legends had a basis in truth, and nearly everyone knew that virgins could attract unicorns. If Liora was a virgin, it was only natural that this herd would instinctively trust and protect her.

Rushing in on this insight was the immediate realization of what action would change this dynamic, and then it was _his_ turn to blush. Rufus hadn’t been this stunned in years. “Oh,” he managed in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Liora muttered, and he watched her bit her lips before speaking again. “I’m fairly sure that it’s, um, the key. To this.”

“Yes, well it may be,” Rufus stalled, trying to fight the flood of sensual images now clamoring for attention in his head. “But let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. There could be, er, other reasons.”

“There could be,” Liora agreed, “and yet this really would make so much sense. It fits all the legends, and I didn’t remember about being a virgin until you showed up . . . oh, that didn’t come out right!”

He didn’t let go of her hands even though she tugged, and a giddy sense of surrealism made Rufus snort his own dry laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that. Merlin’s beard woman, a virgin?”

“Yes,” Liora told him a little dryly. “Sad but true.”

He cleared his throat and squeezed her hands, which were suddenly cool in his. “Now, now none of that. I’m merely a bit surprised, that’s all. Weren’t you were in a . . . relationship before Christmas?”

“That,” Liora told him with an eloquent roll of her eyes, “was a fiasco. Brian wanted a maid with enough money to pay for butterbeer more than he wanted anything else. I wasn’t ready to do more than snog him a bit, and as long as he could borrow my broom and a few Galleons he was happy. Git.”

Rufus had suspected as much, but hearing this from her made him fight a smirk. “Charming. You’re well rid of him then.”

“Yes, well I don’t see _him_ rushing here to find me,” she replied, and sighed. “Actually, I don’t think Brian rushed anywhere except to the Quidditch pitch.”

“Yes, well I doubt he’d be much of a match for a unicorn stallion anyway,” Rufus pointed out. “As we’ve seen, they’re dangerous when feeling protective of their mares.”

“How’s your leg?” Liora asked him anxiously.

“Not too bad, but I should probably put it up for a while,” Rufus admitted. He didn’t want to alarm the girl but the healing spell he’d tried hadn’t been nearly as successful as he’d hoped. The wound ached a bit, and he found himself glad of the cane as they made their way back inside the tent.

Once there, the awkwardness flared up again, and Liora escaped to the kitchen alcove to putter while Rufus settled back in the armchair and fidgeted. He tried not to think about what the obvious solution to their situation was, but it was impossible not to, and from the look of Liora’s restlessness, she too, must be dwelling along the same lines. He took the coward’s way out for a while and petted Sigmund, who had jumped up and curled in his lap. 

A virgin. Well he’d been one himself, ages ago. The difference was that back in those days Rufus had damned little idea of what to expect when it came to lovemaking. The years since then had taught him a thing or two, and given him an understanding of his own preferences. It didn’t help that Miss Munro fit so nicely into those partialities, or that she’d already had a starring role in various fantasies for him. 

Rufus sighed quietly; yes the answer to their dilemma was clear, but he wasn’t about to suggest a damned thing, not at the moment. He wondered if there was any firewhiskey; a shot right now sounded like just the ticket. Before he could ask, he heard the loud clatter of a frying pan in the sink and as Rufus looked over, Liora twirled, her entire stance exasperated.

“This is stupid!” she announced to the tent at large. “We’re both adults, and we both _know_ what needs to happen, right?”

Startled, he found himself nodding, caught up in Liora’s rhetorical question. She stalked over, bent down, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, hard.

The quick, sweet, assault charmed Rufus; he kissed her back, relaxing into it, feeling the former tension dissolve as Liora gave a muffled squeak of pleasure, her curls brushing his face. He smiled, and reluctantly pulled back for a breath, his long crooked nose brushing her shorter, pert one. “Hallo,” Rufus murmured softly.

She laughed, nuzzling his cheek. “Hallo,” Liora replied, and kissed him in light quick pecks, adding, “I know this is dreadfully forward of me . . .”

“Nonsense,” Rufus replied in a whisper. “Shows initiative. Very good quality in a wandmaker.”

That made her giggle, and taking advantage of her amusement, Rufus kissed Liora and tugged her into his lap. She tumbled down and they were a jumble of arms and legs until she managed to settle herself in much like Sigmund.

They kissed and kept kissing, riding a slow wave of pleasure that kept rising. Rufus concentrated on the taste of Liora, of her warmth and weight, which pressed so nicely against parts of him that appreciated it. He learned that her ears were sensitive to nibbles, and that a little lick along the side of her neck made her writhe in the most sensual way. Liora’s hands wandered over him, loosening the buttons of his vest and curling around his neck in a way that made him shiver.

It was astounding how well they communicated without talking, Rufus thought dimly, and that was the last coherent one he had as the woman in his lap nipped his bottom lip. It was the teeth that did it; that little innocent bite was enough to make his simmering libido flare, and Rufus found himself growling, hands cupped around the small of her back and threatening to go lower. Huskily he announced, “That’s _dangerous_ , woman. Just so you know . . .”

“Good,” she breathed against his cheek, and pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “Good,” he heard Liora repeat. “I think I _like_ dangerous, especially around you. I mean, I haven’t done this, but I’ve got an idea how it goes, and I just . . . I just _want_ you. I’m all achy . . .”

“Mmmm,” he managed, feeling her squirm and enjoying it. “Am I to assume that you’re . . . agreeable to . . . ?”

She spluttered into giggles, reaching to take his glasses off and set them on the little table beside the chair. “As if having me plastered all over your lap and snogging the daylights out of you isn’t affirmation enough, Mr. Scrimgeour! Yes, please. I want this very much, and not just,” Liora hesitated and plunged on, “not _just_ to get away from the unicorns.”

“Agrrrrreed,” Rufus managed thickly. “Although I think perhaps we should er, shift venues?”

She nodded, flush-faced and bright-eyed; within moments they were passing through the doorway to the bedroom, still entwined and breathing hard. Somewhere along the way they’d lost their shoes and socks, and the heavy thrum of rain against the tent roof announced another storm.

Rufus didn’t care. The woman in his arms was warm and curvy, a deliciously scented, bouncy kitten with a hungry mouth. He scooped her up, pleased at how light Liora was, and how easy it was to carry her to the bed in the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Liora had talked to people and _listened,_ so when it came to bedroom matters she did indeed have a fair idea of what happened there. The fact that she hadn’t participated in any intimate practices was more a matter of poor luck over disinterest. Here, lying across her Auntie Zelda’s bed, she felt that things were changing for the better, and very quickly at that. Reaching up, she caught the lean form of Rufus and pulled him down to her, hearing the bedsprings give a creak.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, feeling shy. Her hands slid around his frame, slipping under his vest and along his shirt, feeling the heat and under the fabric, the muscles. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on the man, she realized.

“Just . . . follow my lead,” he replied, kissing her neck. “First we get . . . comfortable.”

This seemed to entail disrobing each other, and Liora found it to be an exercise in distraction. Every time she tried to focus on undoing the buttons of Rufus’ shirt, he diverted her efforts by undoing hers and stroking her skin. Fingertips were replaced by kisses, and Liora embarrassed herself by moaning loudly. “Oooohhhh!”

“That sounds . . . encouraging,” she heard Rufus murmur, pleased. He continued, nuzzling his way up along her stomach and to the edge of her brassiere, giving a soft laugh when reaching the fabric. Impatiently Liora tried to reach behind herself to undo the hooks but before she could, his fingers where there, gently unfastening the garment.

“T-thank you,” she murmured arching up, and sucked in a breath as he shifted a hand to slip under one breast, cupping its heft. The sensation left Liora a little dizzy and she moaned again, aware that her nipples were now rigid.

It was hard to breathe as she felt him kiss her breasts, and the lovely weight of him felt wonderful. Without thinking about it, Liora spread her knees, letting Rufus lie between them. This was already a thousand times sweeter and hotter than anything she’d done with Brian, and Liora rocked her hips up against Rufus, unable to stop her squirming. 

His laugh rumbled up, and she felt it as much as heard it, the thick red curls on his chest pressing against her breasts. “Your enthusiasm is wonderfully arousing my dear.”

“I’ve got a lot of . . . pent-up enthusiasm,” Liora chuffed at him, her hands roaming down the lean muscles of his bare back. “I feel like I might _explode_ from enthusiasm!”

She wrapped her legs around him and the increased friction had both of them gasping a bit. Liora pouted when Rufus raised himself up on one hand, his long hair tousled, his expression caught between lust and sternness.

‘Patience,” he chided her with a twisted smile. “I want this to be a lovely experience for you, but the whole thing’s going to be over in a matter of minutes if you don’t slow down!”

“Ohh!” she blushed, instantly relaxing against the coverlet, feeling awkward and shy. “I’m sorry.”

She saw him smile down at her and then he dropped his face to kiss her nose. “Don’t be; that’s simply me reminding myself. It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this, and you are rather an overwhelming joy.”

Liora gave an understanding nod, and reached to help shuffle off her jeans. “Thank you,” she told Rufus softly. He helped her out of the rest of her clothing and pulled his own off, dropping them over the side of the bed before stretching out alongside her, arm around her shoulders.

“I am exceedingly furry,” he told her in mock-seriousness. “A fact you cannot miss. Part of my Scottish ancestry is being both hairy and ginger, therefore if you prefer to keep your eyes closed I will understand.”

Liora giggled, and raked a hand through the thick bed of curls across his chest. “I’d much, much rather keep them open, thank you. I’ve always _liked_ your . . . scruff. Those sideburns and eyebrows; very attractive.”

His look was one of indulgent skepticism, but Liora smiled and kept stroking until he finally smiled in return. “Thank you,” Rufus murmured, clearly touched in more ways than one.

“Only fair. I’m not hairy but I am . . . ample,” Liora admitted. “And pale.”

“Nonsense. You’re perfect,” Rufus growled, one hand stroking her side from ribs to hip. “As for pale, yes well it’s winter, not much sun up this time of year. Not that it matters a Jarvey’s bum to me anyway.”

This made her snicker again, and Liora scooted closer, pressing against him and savoring the warmth that radiated off his lean frame. The thick shaft between his hips throbbed against her lower belly, and the heat of it made her sigh a bit. “That’s . . . not pale.”

His answer to this was to blush a bit, but Rufus gave a gruff sigh. “No, not at the moment, nor is it particularly . . . patient. You do know the, er, mechanics involved, right?”

“Yes,” Liora assured him with a smirk. “Somehow that is supposed to go into me, although it’s clear that magic must be involved because I don’t see how _all_ that is going to fit.”

That made him laugh aloud, and he pulled her onto him, kissing Liora soundly before cupping a hand along her cheek. “T’will be my pleasure to show you.”

They kept kissing, and Liora felt she could get drunk on the sensation. Rufus didn’t hurry, didn’t paw at her impatiently the way Brian had; no, he concentrated, nibbling and licking and driving her to sweet distraction. She squirmed and wriggled, feeling the heat between her thighs growing with every nip and suckle.

Finally, he slid a hand down between their bodies and lightly cupped her fur, callused fingers gently caressing her. Liora gave a breathy moan and rocked against his hand, rushing into the sensual pleasure of it, feeling lost as she did so. Moments later she shuddered, heat rolling through her in slow waves. When Liora finally caught her breath she found herself draped limply on Rufus’ chest while he stroked her spine gently with big, warm hands.

“I don’t know which one of us enjoyed that more,” he whispered to her. “You’ve made an old man feel . . . young.”

“You’re not old, and thank you,” Liora managed, pushing herself up a bit to look him in the eye. “And I rather think I needed that, yes, although that’s not quite the deed now, is it?”

“No, but it will help matters,” he chuckled. She looked at him, tousled and fierce against the rumpled coverlet, his tawny eyes bright.

“Can we . . . ?” she murmured softly, and he nodded. Carefully Rufus tightened his arms around her and rolled them together, turning her on her back and lifting himself over her frame. This part of the coverlet was cool, but Liora didn’t mind. Rufus shifted, pulling her knees apart, his callused fingers gliding over her inner thighs playfully as he loomed. 

“You _are_ a beauty Liora Simone, and I want you so much my teeth ache. I won’t last nearly as long as I should,” he told her in a wry little growl, and murmured the Impedimenta Gravida spell.

She gave a sobbing little sigh, reaching for him and pulling Rufus down to her, and he brushed his cheek against hers, scratchy and warm. It took a moment, but she felt him push, and the stretch made her squirm a bit. “Ooooof!”

“Relax,” he muttered thickly before groaning a little himself. Liora clutched him and rocked her hips up, and suddenly he was in, thick and hot, and she gave a sob at the unexpected pleasure of being filled. Rufus panted a bit and slowly thrust a bit more, and with that, Liora felt her hips wriggle in response.

They moved, awkwardly at first, but after a while their bodies found a rhythm that flowed through them, and Liora clung tightly to Rufus, lost in a cascade of sensations ranging from twinges of pain to slow waves of ecstasy and heat. She felt the grind of fur against her breasts, the heavy thrust of her lover’s body into her own, and the crazy weightless urgency building between her thighs, tightening with every stroke. Liora tipped her face up and Rufus kissed her hard, mouth on hers, muffling her moans as she gave in to the sweet bliss that flared once again through her body. Moments later she felt Rufus grunt, and a flood of wet heat deep within made her tighten her thighs around his hips.

She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh, feeling bonelessly relaxed now. It felt good to lie under Rufus, to feel his weight on hers, damp and strong. Liora felt him kiss her forehead and nose, then her smiling lips. “A-mazing, Mr. Scrimgeour,” she murmured happily.

“God woman, _I’m_ not the amazing one,” he groaned. “Ten years off my life, and worth every second of it.” He laughed, a low rumble of a sound. “Oh Liora my dear, you are wonderful, marvelous, brilliant!”

Carefully he shifted off of her, rolling onto his back next to Liora on the mattress. She curled up against his side, feeling sticky, but also too relaxed to go clean up just yet. Rufus slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “Just a wee rest then . . .”

They fell asleep.

Hours later, Liora woke up, feeling slightly sore and disoriented. She found herself draped over a furry chest, and the softest of snores told her that Rufus was still dead to the world. She smiled broadly, feeling a surge of joy through her system and raised her head to look at him in the dim light. He lay on his back, long hair tangled and looking more lion than man, and Liora thought his naked body a work of art.

He was corded and lean, definitely furry in places and altogether attractive. There were old scars on him; she wondered how he’d gotten them and when. Liora shifted her focus, moving from top to bottom, and when her gaze reached his stomach, she felt her face heat up. There it was, between his hips, still impressive even in repose. She reached out a hand to touch it, trying not to wake Rufus.

His shaft thickened a little at her delicate touch, and Liora fought a giggle at this enthusiastic response. She admired the way it began to jut out from the heavy thicket of russet curls that stretched from hip to hip on him. Rufus shifted a little in his sleep, and Liora slowed her touches, lightly stroking a finger over the heavy balls, feeling the heat against her skin.

Marvelous. It truly was, she thought. A wand of flesh, making a very intimate magic. This had her fighting against another bout of snorting giggles, and not succeeding since Rufus lazily reached down and stroked her shoulder. “I know, I know; funny looking, isn’t it? You’d think nature would have designed it all better.”

“No, it’s not that,” Liora managed, relieved that she could reach out and caress his length openly now. “It’s just that to me, it’s a _wand._ ”

This brought a deep chuckle from him, one that ended in a groan as she toyed with him. “Have a care, or you’ll get more than just a shower of sparks if you keep doing that.”

“Oh really?” she teased, sitting up a bit more. “Well in that case, I think this calls for a closer examination.”

“If you must,” he groaned, adjusting the pillows behind his head so that he could sit up. “You haven’t er, seen one before, then?”

“On statues, where they were all much _much_ smaller,” Liora confessed. “Honestly, you’ve got a simply _enormous_ one!”

It was endearingly funny to see him blush with all that bare pale skin going pink all at once. “All right first things first—a Wizard’s personal staff has two states, girl—at rest and up. Most of those you’ve seen have been at rest, which is why they seem to be smaller. As for me, well, I measure up all right, although it’s far more important to know what to do with it than the size of it,” he growled playfully.

Liora nodded; this certainly fit with what she’d learned. “And it can’t be treated roughly,” she offered up, fingers gentle along the veined shaft in her hands.

“No,” Rufus agreed, his voice getting thick. “Neither the staff nor the bollocks, thank you.”

“So handle with care,” she purred, “like this?”

“Oh _precisely_ like that!”

Liora took her time, and with some guidance and encouraging groans and growls from her lover found that years of handling wands had given her a deft grip. Very shortly Rufus pulled her away from her toyings and over himself, showing her that there was just as much pleasure in being on top when it came to matters intimate.

She was an enthusiastic pupil, and by the time the two of them rose, washed and dressed, the sun was high in the sky, dappling the tent walls with light. Rufus had cooked up a skillet of bacon and eggs to share, and Sigmund received his portion with grouchy good grace.

“He’s not happy with me,” Liora sighed. “In the course of events last night, I . . . forgot to feed him.”

“Ah,” Rufus replied. “That explains it. Kneazles _can_ get grumpy about that sort of mistake.” He moved to give Cora a bit of bacon and she took it daintily before flying off to the other side of the tent, perching on the back of one of the chintz chairs.

Liora cocked an ear. “I don’t hear anything out there,” she ventured, accepting a plate.   
Rufus gave a shrug. “We shall see for ourselves in due time. Meanwhile, eat up; it’s better to face the day well-fed. Aurors learn that early on, dear.”

They lingered over breakfast, enjoying each other’s company and not speaking much. At least not verbally, but Liora felt they were saying quite a lot without words. It felt natural to sit opposite Rufus and munch on a piece of toast, to watch him sit there in shirtsleeves, with bare feet and his mane still slightly damp.

When they could put it off no longer, they stepped out and into the sunshine, blinking a bit in the brightness through the clearing. There were still hints of rain, now an icy glaze over the ground and trees, and the reflections were dazzling. Liora hurriedly looked around, her gaze sweeping the packed dirt underfoot. “No tracks.”

“Hmmmm,” was all her companion offered up. Rufus strode forward, still limping slightly and searched the grounds intently. He turned back to her and was about to say something when they both heard the hoof beats. It didn’t take long for them to grow louder, and Liora felt a twist in her chest as Forte approached, slowing once he reached the clearing.

“Ohhhh,” she murmured, feeling a twist of embarrassment, frustration and disappointment. But instead of trotting right up to her, the stallion Forte stopped a few feet from Liora and flared his nostrils. She watched him for a moment, and after a few chuffs, Forte gracefully bowed, his horn touching the ground at her feet.

Liora drew in a quick breath at this unexpected salute. She waited, and the unicorn lifted his head once more, his movements elegant and clearly deliberate. He wheeled and galloped away, leaving her behind, tears stinging her eyes although she wasn’t quite sure why. Just as unexpectedly, Liora felt a warm arm slip around her shoulders, and she turned her head, pressing it into the comforting haven of Rufus’ shoulder.

“If that wasn’t a clear sign I’d like to know what is,” Rufus murmured to her. “I’ve always thought unicorns were far more intelligent than the Department of Magical Creatures gives them credit for, myself.”

Liora sniffled a bit. “All I wanted was to be able to leave them and now that they’ve left _me_ . . .” she couldn’t finish the thought, and felt the arm around her stiffen slightly. Alarmed, Liora looked up into tawny eyes now bleak with muted pain.

“Do you . . . regret what we’ve . . . done?” he whispered, his expression that of a man steeling himself for the worst. Liora gulped.

“Merlin _no!_ That’s not what I meant, Rufus! Last night meant heaven and earth to me! All I meant is that here and now I . . . I would have liked to say goodbye to the little ones, that’s all!”

He gave a little nod but didn’t look entirely soothed, so Liora slipped her arm under his and snuggled closer, holding him tightly. Gradually she felt Rufus relax a bit, and she laid her head on his shoulder, giving a small sigh.

“No regrets,” she murmured.

“Good,” came the fierce whisper, “because I certainly have none myself. Now let us pack up and see about stopping at the pub before heading back, shall we?”

A few quick spells and everything from the campsite was back in Liora’s pack. Cora rode on Rufus’s shoulder and Sigmund trotted on ahead, his bushy tail like a fuzzy exclamation point leading the way. Twenty minutes in, Liora tensed as they approached the edge of where the barrier had been, but Rufus took her hand in his without breaking stride. The heavy warmth of it soothed Liora, and she gripped his fingers gratefully as they stepped together past the last point of the unicorn’s glamor.

From that point on it was easy to make it back to the road, and the day grew warmer, melting the ice and leaving muddy ruts all the way back to the Chalk and Cheese. When they stepped inside, Liora recognized the gentleman who’d tipped her off about the unicorns, and he waved them over to his table, his smile welcoming. “I see you found her then.”

“Yes, but I think the herd’s moved on,” Rufus told the man and introduced him. Liora realized that the two of them must have met before, and looked from one to the other. She gave a nod to Geoffrey’s inquiring look.

“They may be back,” she offered. 

He gave her a kind look and nodded. “Probably. Beautiful things, aren’t they? So dazzling they make snow look dingy. In any case they’ll find better pastures south of here this time ‘o year.”

They all chatted for a while over a few pints, and finally Liora gave Rufus a look and a nod; he gave one back, rising from the table and extending his hand to their host. “Thank you for the help and the pints, Geoffrey. Do stop in to the Ministry when you come in to London; I think a certain department would appreciate your information on the herd.”

“Glad to help,” Geoffrey smiled. “Not many of us out this way, so one hand washes the other, as my mum would say.”

Liora didn’t say anything until they hiked up the lane and over a hill, passing out of sight of the pub, but once they had she turned to Rufus and bit her lip before speaking. “I . . . I suppose this is where we say goodbye then.”

He shot her a sharp look, one she couldn’t help noting held a trace of uncertain longing in it. “Really? I had rather intended to see you home, my dear. My mother did raise me to be a gentleman as well as a wizard, and I would be damned remiss if I didn’t see you all the way to your door.”

“Oh,” Liora felt her face go pink, and a surge of happiness flooded her. “Oh, yes, then. I wouldn’t want to be ungracious after all you’ve . . . done.”

“My pleasure,” he rumbled, and since neither of them could keep a straight face at that, they both burst out laughing. Taking her hand, Rufus lifted it to his lips, kissed it, and murmured, “Hold on tight.”

They Apparated together in one quick flash.


End file.
